


Let me Try

by ThingsGetBetter (Kalimdor)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Is Liadrin OOC? idk blizz never gives me enough of her :(, Porn with Feelings, Sylvanas "I will hurt you before you hurt me" Windrunner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimdor/pseuds/ThingsGetBetter
Summary: Liadrin brought Sylvanas into this world, she'd held her, patched her up, fallen in love with her. Now in undeath Sylvanas barely looks at her twice. Their love, their partnership, their history- not even a glimmer of recognition in those chilling red eyes. But the Warchief is gravely wounded and it seems like her former lover is the only one who can help.And she cannot let her Warchief die, even if it kills Liadrin to do so.
Relationships: Liadrin/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	Let me Try

**Author's Note:**

> Rare pair I know but hear me out...
> 
> ...I can write whatever I want!

Liadrin remembered the day she brought Sylvanas into the world. Tiny, kicking, with a scraggly mop of hair on her head while she squalled up a storm, little pointed ears pressed flat against her skull. 

Lireesa had fallen back against the pillows, sweat on her brow and panting while her husband hovered near, arm wrapped excitedly around Alleria, still clad in her ranger’s leathers as she was rushed from the training range, who looked less than impressed by the whole ordeal. 

She’d bathed her, swaddled her and, gently as she could, handed the wriggling babe over, golden eyes alight and a soft smile on her face. 

“Welcome to the world, little one. May _Belore_ bless you on this wondrous day...” Liadrin trailed off, ears flicking anxiously.

“Sylvanas.” Lireesa finished with a breathless sigh, fighting back tears as she reached for her newborn child. Liadrin felt honored to be the one to see that rare and tender moment as the battle hardened Ranger General cradled her, whispering loving words, and pressing a trembling kiss to the soft skin of her forehead. 

“Sylvanas.” Liadrin repeated with a firm nod as she committed the name to memory. 

She didn’t know it then, but she’d be seeing a lot of Sylvanas over the next few centuries. 

The first few times she came in as a scrappy child, gashes on her knees and grazes on her knuckles. Then she was traipsed in as a scowling, gangly teen, the skin on her palms stripped from handling a bow and the deep gash of a knife wound on her calf. There were chipped fangs, nicked ears, broken limbs and even an arrow or two embedded in an arm or a thigh. Or that one time she’d gingerly limped in, the soles of her feet a blistered weeping mess from marching miles in boots that had yet to be broken in. Liadrin had treated them all. 

What got to her was how stoic of a patient Sylvanas really was. Despite dealing with what must have been some truly agonizing wounds, she always came in- a lopsided, sheepish grin on her face as Liadrin would roll her eyes with a _“what is it this time.”_

‘A high threshold to pain’ The priestess had printed boldly on her file should any other healer have the misfortune of dealing with her case. Sylvanas permanently wore a smile, even when her hands were torn to shreds or she was pale from blood loss. Always willing to start up conversation, or, as Liadrin soon found out as she’d gotten older, shamelessly flirt. 

“You know… it should be a crime.” Liadrin remembered her slurring as she’d soothed the sweat soaked hair from the young woman's face with her right hand, while a soft glow emanated from her left, feeling the splintered ribs on her left side slowly set in place. “Having someone so beautiful tending to me while I’m drugged up on painkillers like this… I fear I may… say something stupid.” Those eyes had cracked open into teasing slits. “Like… I don’t know, will you kiss it to make it better?” 

“Sylvanas.” Liadrin had scolded, hoping that in her delirious state, her wayward patient wouldn’t notice or remember the flush that spread across her cheeks. 

Sylvanas had been a fully fledged ranger then, and as beautiful as she was deadly. Platinum blonde hair and sparkling silver-blue eyes that perpetually twinkled with mischief as she fixed Liadrin with a lopsided grin. Yet Liadrin was a professional and Sylvanas was still young, young enough that she _knew_ Lireesa would have her head if she so much as looked at her daughter for too long. But the neverending march of the years went on, Sylvanas passed her first century, and those injuries continued. 

There would of course be vast stretches of time where she would be absent from the sickbed, coming back victorious with barely a scratch on her head. Other times she’d be carted in, blood soaking the sheets and barely clinging to life- but oh as soon as she was able, her eyes would light up and she’d reach for Liadrin’s hand, proudly boasting of how she’d come to receive such vicious battle wounds. 

_“You should have seen the other guy.”_

_“You always feed me that line.” Liadrin muttered dryly, “and I’ll always tell you to be more careful.”_

She was too damn reckless, brave to the point of stupidity. Liadrin sometimes glared at her charts, jaw set tight as she worried at her lip and wondered if Sylvanas even felt pain at all.

Her internal question was soon answered… in the form of a poisoned Amani spear. 

Dipped in a deadly neurotoxin, it had only been quick thinking on the rangers part, as they quickly tourniqueted her arm, that had saved her life. She'd been rushed in, reeking of ammonia and sweat and arching off the bed as she groaned in fevered agony. 

“Sylvanas.” Lidarin had tried to get her attention only for the elf to barely respond as she writhed on the cot in a delirious state. She’d repeated her name harsher, louder. “Sylvanas!” 

Glassy eyes, hazy with pain, opened and, with difficulty, settled in the general direction of the Priestess before wheezing words were uttered that stopped Liadrin’s heart. 

“Help me.” 

She’d never heard Sylvanas so lost, so broken that she’d resorted to such an agonized plea. 

“We’re going to have to amputate.” She remembered another healer muttering, ears low against his skull and expression solemn. 

“No.” Liadrin had found herself decisively replying, “she cannot lose her shooting arm, it will kill her.” 

“It’s killing her now!” 

“Please, let me try to save it- if it goes wrong I… I promise we will amputate, but you’ve got to give me this one chance.” 

The healer shook his head, but stepped back, eyes widening as Liadrin dropped to her knees, a prayer on her lips and golden eyes glowing white as she lifted her hands in reverence. 

“Blessed Light, grant me the strength to save her arm, to save her _life.”_ Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Give her this… give _me_ this, please.” 

The entire night, Liadrin did not move from her spot, murmuring prayers of healing as her fingertips spread out over the burning skin of the infected arm, drawing out the poison from the blackened webbing of veins. Even as her mana sapped dry and her body trembled with the exertion, she never stopped. Even as the sun began to rise, filtering in soft beams through the window pane, she didn’t quit, until she felt the grounding touch of a hand on her shoulder. 

“I think you’ve done all that you can. Only time will tell now.” 

Liadrin could only nod before pulling a chair beside Sylvanas’s unconscious form and trailing tired fingers across her wrist. “ _Belore_ damn you Sylvanas,” she’d uttered, miserable, before slumping over in her chair and her eyes falling shut. 

She’d awoken to someone caressing her cheek, a gentle hand cupping her jaw and Liadrin’s eyes had slowly flitted open to drink in the sight of Sylvanas smiling warmly at her, looking so much healthier now the color was back in her cheeks. Liadrin had realized, with some heat to her face, that the Ranger General was naked from the waist up, the sheets bunched around her legs as she leaned closer to gently stroke the healer’s face. 

“Hey you.”

The exhausted priestess smiled gently in response before her eyes had widened and she’d jolted awake, blinking furiously to clear her head.

“Sylvanas! You’re awake.” 

Sylvanas had laughed, eyes twinkling again, that lopsided grin back as her ears pricked and she leaned forward, fingers still trailing against Liadrin’s jaw. 

“Indeed I am. I heard from the other priest what you did to save my arm… to save everything that I am. Thank you Liadrin, _thank you.”_

And then those startlingly soft lips had pressed against hers and it was Liadrin’s turn to wish she were in that hospital bed… if only to lie down and process the thought of what exactly was happening. 

She remembered her ears shooting straight up, then wilting in pleasure, her eyes having fallen shut. But all too soon she’d pulled back, wrenching her lips away even as they tingled and yearned to remain where they felt they now belonged. She’d looked away, ashamed, hating how obviously her hardened nipples were catching against the thin fabric of her robes. 

“Sylvanas. We can’t.” 

“Why not?” The huff of her breath against Liadrin’s parted lips had only served to make her head spin. 

“My pledge as a priestess, my breach of patient trust...your _mother.”_ The last word came out in a frenzied hiss yet did nothing to deter Sylvanas who was still stroking a thumb over a cheekbone in a soothing repetitive fashion. 

“My mother doesn’t _care._ She hasn’t cared in a long time.”

“About what?” 

“About _us.”_

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s known how I’ve felt about you for over a decade now.” 

Liadrin’s eyes widened. 

“All those invites to dinner, those gala parties… the way she insisted on having us sit together. Did you not see how I looked at you? She sure did. Like you were the first sunrise after being cured of blindness, like the…” Sylvanas floundered, “the first sip of water after a day of marching in midsummer.” 

“You are _terrible_ at analogies.” Liadrin remembered laughing in quiet disbelief at the way Sylvanas blushed and ducked away with a shy smile, ears dipping in aquisence. 

“I know.” 

“I… don’t know what to say. I… I’d hoped that maybe one day but...” Liadrin trailed off and Sylvanas’s expression softened. 

“Then don’t say anything? Start with kissing me again, then maybe we can take it from there. Together.” 

“Okay” Liadrin breathed, mumbling against lips that were all too eager to claim hers again. “Together.” 

* * *

“The Ranger General has fallen. She has bought us time but it is vital that we evacuate Silvermoon. Do not let her sacrifice be in vain.” 

Fallen, fallen. The Ranger General had fallen.

Liadrin’s gaze never left her hands as the panicked masses swept past her, taking what little they could and fleeing. Perhaps it was all a cruel joke, perhaps they would still yet bring her in as she grinned and flirted her way through the pain. 

_“I’m sorry my Light, I did really try to be careful this time, truly. But seven trolls vs one elf was perhaps not the desired outcome I’d had in mind. I’ll have you know that they paid dearly for such cheap tactics but well…” she gave a lopsided shrug as her ruined arm dangled by her side. “So did my dislocated shoulder”_

Words from before echoed in her mind and almost found herself mouthing along to the memory as her hands clenched into trembling fists. 

_“I’m sure that’s the case Sylv, and not you jumping into the fray thinking you could take them all on at once.”_

_“Hmmm of course. Hey… you’re really leaving me without a kiss?” Sylvanas absently pulled at her dressing, suddenly acting coy as Liadrin made to walk away. “I think I have a gash on my chest that needs some attention…” that gaze then became darkened as her smirk grew, “and there’s definitely a bruise on my inner thigh too.”_

_“I am not reinforcing your bad behavior with positive attention!” Liadrin huffed, folding her arms and Sylvanas openely cackled until Liadrin couldn’t prevent the traitorous quirk of her lips in response as she leaned forward, her hand sliding into those silky blonde locks and hovering inches away from a kiss._

_“But I’ve been such a brave girl.” Sylvanas whispered, fluttering her lashes, only to splutter indignantly as Lidarin scoffed and pushed her back on the bed._

The Light glowed in Lidarin’s palms and shimmered in her eyes, it glinted off the single tear that tracked down her tanned face. 

_The Ranger General had fallen. Dead._

_Sylvanas was dead._

Well, there was no healing that. 

That warm gentle glow became searing and violent as hands that had been made to heal instead reached for a sword. 

_So vengeance it was instead._

* * *

“The battle is won but our Warchief is wounded, kill what remains and fall back to the gate!” The booming roar of an orc jolted Liadrin out of her rage-fueled stupor as she stumbled on the battlefield, eyes pools of molten gold as the faceless abomination shrieked and writhed while she bound its flesh in burning chains of Light. 

_The Warchief is wounded._

_Sylvanas._

Liadrin let out a roar as she drove her sword into the steaming mass of flesh, cutting out the Void minion’s wordless cries. 

“Liadrin,” Lor’themar stumbled to her side, an escort of dark rangers at his heels. Liadrin remembered a few of them in life. The way they’d tittered amongst themselves if they ever saw walk past the training range; jovially elbowing at each other with flirty winks and shit-eating grins until Sylvanas had barked at them to contain themselves, an embarrassed flush across her cheeks that only further served to humor them more. They’d all been so fascinated by her, the woman who’d captured the Ranger General’s heart. She idly thought it strange that Vorrel still had freckles, barely visible under the ashen pallor of her skin. “The Warchief...she’s in a bad way, we need you.” 

“Sylvanas is no longer a denizen of the Light.” Liadrin stated calmly- not cruelly, just matter of fact. “I can no longer heal her without causing more harm.” 

“I’m not asking you to use the Light.” The Regent Lord snapped, face etched in desperation. “I’m _asking_ you to-” 

“I no longer bring her comfort, Lor’” Liadrin interrupted, voice still calm. “If I did, even the slightest, then I would be in there, by her side.” Her gaze turned steely, the light in her eyes dimming. “But I do not, so out here I shall remain.” She shouldered her sword and began to march back toward the remaining skirmish.

“Liadrin, wait.” Lor’themar huffed, daring to catch his hand on her elbow. “She was… murmuring your name. She needs you, more than you know.” 

The Blood Knight wheeled around. “If she needed me then she wouldn’t have sent me to the solitude of Arathi. If she needed me she wouldn’t so callously order me around, sending me away from warfront to warfront with naught but a wave of her hand. She finds no comfort from me anymore,” Liadrin seethed. “To her I’m just a piece on a war map, a checker in a board game… a fucking arrow in her Light-forsaken fucking quiver.” 

Fuck. She hadn’t meant to get this upset. Liadrin took a deep breath, not daring to look into Lor’themar’s eyes to find pity.

“I’m nothing to her.” Her voice was quiet again, defeated. “Let her know I wish her a speedy recovery, for a Horde without a Warchief is a sorry state indeed. I’ll be stationed once she’s in a fit state to make her next move.” She shrugged out of his grip. 

“Liadrin... I think she’s dying.” 

Liadrin paused, her thoughts turning bitter and cruel. “How can one die who is already-.”

A frustrated growl. “You know what I mean. She’s not recovering, I fear that we are losing her as we speak.” 

Liadrin hated that at that moment, even now after all this time, all she could feel in response to those words was a horrible cloying chill that settled deep in her stomach. 

“Then lead the way.” 

* * *

Cold. That was all Liadrin felt as she entered the hold.

Cold and empty. 

The room was dark, torchlight flickering off the utilitarian walls and the surprisingly pleasant smell of pine and woodsmoke from a stick of incense smoldering by the door. Though beneath that was the scent of death, of detritus and the earthy fragrance of wet earth as well as something sharper that she couldn’t quite place. 

Liadrin paused, and all at once her heart thundered to a halt. 

Sprawled across the ample throne, draped in wolf pelts, Sylvanas Windrunner looked down at Liadrin with the impervity of a Queen... before seeming to slump further into her reclined position, fingers gently touching her side where a gaping wound oozed with black ichor, smoking at its edges as though her skin were trying to heal but finding that it could not. 

“Warchief?” Liadrin questioned, back straight and chin held high. 

“Blood Knight.” Sylvanas replied, her two toned voice strained. Liadrin wasn’t used to hearing it so… weak. “I apologize for calling you off the battlefield but I find myself… in need of your aid. Leave us.” She nodded to her rangers who dutifully filed out, leaving the two alone.

“I am happy to serve, yet I have my trepidations that my use of the Light will not be adequate in-” 

“No… it is precisely the Light that I so desperately need.” Sylvanas growled, red eyes flaring as she shifted with a pained grimace, hand, now stained with blackened blood still clutching her side. “This particular wound is... a special gift from the Void.” Sylvanas’s lips curled back over sharp fangs. “It festers within me, eating at my flesh before I can attempt to heal myself it’s… it’s a matter of _concern_ if I allow it to linger much longer _.”_

Liadrin swallowed and against her will she found herself stepping forward. “I can sense the Void it’s…” Her eyes widened, “It’s like an infection, I can feel it… spreading within you. It’s… it’s _corrupting_ you.” 

“Yes.” Sylvanas’s response ended with a hiss. “I believe that the only way I can get it out of me is through some form of… purging.” 

No. No way. 

“That’s suicide.” Liadrin hissed back. “Yes my Light might be able to rid your body of its grasp but it may in equal measure rid it of _you_ as well.” 

“Don’t think I’m not aware of that.” Sylvanas snapped, “but I do not believe we have much of a choice.” 

“I…” Liadrin swallowed, unbidden flashes of memory from better times plaguing her thoughts. 

_Let me try._

_You’ve got to give me this one chance._

“Warchi- _Sylvanas,_ if I kill you-” Liadrin started, ears betraying her fear as they folded back. She was surprised to find the Banshee Queen letting out a choked laugh in response. 

“Oh my dear, I’m afraid a certain _someone_ beat you to that decades ago...” 

* * *

“Are you ready?” Liadrin asked as she flexed her inner ‘muscle’ and let the Light pulse from her fingertips to her forearms. Her veins glowed and a familiar gentle tingle flickered across her skin. To her it felt like the gentle run off of a mountain stream, to Sylvanas it may as well be burning molten lead. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Sylvanas’s voice turned sultry. “Are _you?”_

Liadrin hated that the simplicity of the statement in _that_ tone still managed to send violent shivers down her spine. Quickly unfastening the straps of her heavy plate armor, she shrugged the worst of it off, allowing her to move a little more freely as she rolled her shoulders, like a fighter entering a gladiatorial ring. She cracked her knuckles and rested her hands either side of the throne, glaring down at the Warchief who stared at her impassively, eyebrow raised as though she were challenging her to a game of cards rather than daring her to potentially end her life. 

“I am effectively about to perform an exorcism on a _banshee_ so I doubt I’ll ever truly be ready.” She spat before her eyes flared a brilliant white-gold. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try. May I touch you?” Liadrin’s voice was soft, wary. 

Sylvanas merely jerked her chin in consent and allowed hands that hadn’t laid upon her in years to wrap around her upper arms. 

Neither of them truly knew what to expect as the first wave of Light hit. Sylvanas let out an agonized howl and threw her head back against the throne. 

“I’m sorry.” Liadrin hissed, though she didn’t relent on her grip around the Warchief’s shoulders as she released another pulse. Sylvanas snarled, throwing her head to the side and, despite the fact that she didn’t need to, started to pant. 

Hearing those stilted, juddering breaths caused Liadrin to pause in both surprise and alarm, only for Sylvanas to glare at her and tighten her own grip on Liadin’s arms. 

“Don’t you dare fucking back out of this, I need it gone.” 

Liadrin clenched her jaw, nodding and, despite how it pained her to do it, she released another searing pulse. 

Sylvanas let out another pained groan, scrabbling against Liadrin’s iron tight hold. 

Liadrin remembered the days her touch used to heal, remembered the relieved smile on Sylvanas’s face as the gentle rivers of Light smoothed away her burns and her scars. She remembered the time she used to cradle her ranger’s face in her palms as she’d bathed in the Light like a cat dozing in the mid-afternoon sun.

Now Sylvanas winced and hissed and spat as her very spirit rejected everything about it. 

“It burns…” she growled, “it fucking burns.” A feral half-grin, half-snarl then appeared on her face. “Oh but it’s… working. Can you feel it? You need to keep going, even if it’s agony, even if I beg for you to stop...you have to cleanse it until every last infernal drop of Void is gone. You hear me?”

“I hate this.” Liadrin groaned. 

“ _It_ hates it more. You must not relent.” 

A strangled whimper. Liadrin wished she could cover her ears. 

“Liadrin, do you hear me?” Sylvanas had meant it to sound like a command yet it came out more as a panicked shout. 

“I won’t.” Liadrin snapped back, hating that it was the first time Sylvanas had uttered her name in years and what that did to her. “Shut the fuck up, I won’t.” 

“Okay…”Sylvanas let out a breath before she snarled again, struggling. Liadrin’s hold wavered against her incredible undead strength but the Blood Knight did not give in, adjusting her grip so that she was cradling Sylvanas’s torso in her arms as the Warchief wrestled against her. 

Soon Sylvanas’s screams turned to whimpers, then to begging, then to whispered hoarse pleading... but Liadrin continued to channel pulse after agonizing pulse of Light into her former lover’s body, hating how her very essence, one that was suppose to heal and soothe, was effectively flaying her soul alive.

“I’m sorry.” Liadrin whimpered, the room turning blurry with her tears. “I’m so sorry.” 

A cold hand weakly grasping at her bare shoulder. The first time Sylvanas’s skin had come into contact with hers since she’d fallen. 

“Help me.” 

Liadrin’s heart shattered in two. 

“Sylvanas. Of all the things you’ve made me do these past years, this is the cruelest yet.” Liadrin breathed- even as the Warchief incoherently whimpered, head lolling against the throne as her muscles spasmed and twitched. “How could you order me to do this, to hurt you. The person that I loved… still love. Damn you Sylvanas, fucking damn you!” 

Liadrin’s teeth bore into a snarl and she turned all her pain, all her anger, all the times she’d watched her dead lover from afar glance at her with barely a hint of recognition. She channeled it all, into purging the wretched Void infection that stubbornly clung, hissing and writhing as she wrapped it in stinging tendrils of Light and _pulled._

“You cursed Void-filth.” Liadrin spat through her sobs, “has she not suffered enough? By the Light I command you to be gone!” 

Sylvanas’s wordless pleading cut out, red eyes rolling back and her body going rigid before slumping limp and lifeless against Liadrin’s hold. With a grotesque screech, the Void corruption was ripped from the Warchief and instantly consumed by the Light as it was seared from within. 

“It’s over Sylvanas.” Liadrin breathed, still holding her, rocking back and forth like one would soothe a crying child. “It’s gone, it’s all over.” 

For a horrible moment Liadrin feared that she’d failed, that she’d ripped the Banshee’s very soul out too and discarded it, leaving an empty shell of a body behind- but relief flooded through her as red eyes slowly opened, ears pricking up in response to stimulus and a shuddering sigh as Sylvanas let out a breath she didn’t need. 

“Hey you.” Liadrin breathed, heart in her throat as Sylvanas slowly lifted her head to stare up at her.

The Warchief blinked again, hand touching her side almost in wonder as her necromantic energies kicked in, sealing muscle and flesh until all that remained was a faded, jagged scar. Liadrin had to swallow back the bile in her throat when she noticed the amount of blacked ichor that was smeared over her hands and arms...and most probably her face too. She sat back, wiping at her brow and hoping Sylvanas wasn’t noticing how violently she was trembling, both in anger and in pain. 

“Hey…” Sylvanas breathed, gazing into those golden eyes before seeming to come to her senses, moving to pull away. “I...I seem to have been sufficiently healed. Thank you for your services, paladin, I’ll be sure to-” but Liadrin held firm, refusing to break away from that baleful crimson gaze as Sylvanas tried to snatch her arm back. 

“No, you do not do this to me.” She snarled, “You can’t just order me in, begging for your life, calling me by _name_ and forcing me to do… _that_ without talking to me.” 

“I was injured and I needed your aid.” Sylvanas rumbled in warning. “What else would you like me to say?” 

“I don’t know… something at least. Maybe an explanation...I…” Liadrin couldn’t bear it any longer. “Do I mean _nothing_ to you Sylvanas?” 

Red eyes blinked, surprised. “Of course not, you’re-” 

“-Then why do you treat me as nothing more than a pawn in your game!” Liadrin exploded. 

Many would think it foolishly suicidal to be yelling at the Warchief while still effectively in her lap but frankly Liadrin was too furious to care. 

“I _mourned_ you Sylvanas. I went so many years thinking you were dead. So when I found out you were still here, that you still walked upon Azeroth I was, and you might think me selfish but I was... _elated.”_ Liadrin’s eyes shut in pain. “But all I found was someone who looked like you, acted like you but failed to acknowledge I even existed! Someone who didn’t even _care._ ” Liadrin let out a soft whine of pain. “Can you remember us? Can you even recall what it felt like when we-”

“I remember!” She snarled and Liadrin’s eyes widened at the most emotion she’d ever gotten from Sylvanas in over a decade. “I remember _everything._ ” 

“Then why did you pretend as if I did not exist?” Liadrin’s voice was thick with heartbreak. 

There was a pause as both of them glared at one another, yet neither making the move to back away. “Because... what if I did?” Sylvanas gestured as she referred to Liadrin’s earlier statement. “What if I came running into your arms, acting as if nothing had changed, what then? You would have been disgusted, pushed me away.” 

“No I wouldn’t-” 

“I saw the pity in your eyes.” Sylvanas interrupted, fangs bared. “It’s the same expression I see on everyone I meet. You all look at me like it’s pitiful what I’ve become. All that I could have been… all that I _should_ have been. But it’s not… this cold skin, these red eyes…” Sylvanas laughed harshly to herself. “You know, I can hardly bear to hear my own fucking voice, let alone see you wince everytime I talk. You think I want that? To be with you knowing that I’ll never be enough, that I’ll never be for you what I once was?” 

“I don’t want what you once were,” Liadrin growled. “I wanted you- just you, only you- whatever form you take. But holy shit Sylvanas, you never even gave me the chance!” 

“Why would you even want a chance? I was giving you a way out!” 

“Well I don’t need a way out!” Liadrin’s voice wavered but she would not let herself cry. “You threw me in the boiling water and then deemed it a lost cause when I flinched from the pain. You didn’t even give me a chance to adapt... to get used to the temperature, to get used to _you._ I didn’t want to pretend nothing had changed, I didn’t want to go back to memories of what you used to be. What I wanted...” Liadrin cursed herself as fresh tears fell from her eyes. “What I wanted was to get to know you as you are now, to learn to love you instead of just some hazy memory. But Sylvanas…” Liadrin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You didn’t even let me _try.”_

“How could I?” Sylvanas replied in a startlingly soft voice. “How could you possibly expect me to take that risk?” 

Liadrin fell silent and Sylvanas shuffled so she was sitting up a little straighter. Liadrin was still half in her lap, the burning heat of her living body noticeable even through the leather of her pants. 

“You think I’m weak don’t you.” The Blood Knight ground out, refusing to meet her gaze as her ears flattened. 

“I don’t.” Sylvanas replied so quickly that Liadrin narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I don’t.” She repeated, keeping her voice low so that the echo was barely noticeable. She reached for Liadrin’s hand before changing her mind and resting it against her thigh with her fist balled up. “If you want to know who’s weak you need only look at the person in front of you.” 

“You?” Liadrin let out a harsh chuckle. “How could you be weak? You’re not the one clambering into your lap and weeping over you like some simpering damsel, begging for your attention.” 

“I’m pretty sure _I_ was the one who pulled you on top of me.” Sylvanas smirked and Liadrin had to fight back the sob at how cruel it was that undeath did little to hide that achingly familiar expression. The Warchief’s expression sobered and she absently traced a clawed finger over the plating at her knee. 

“It was weakness that had me push you away.” Sylvanas eventually admitted, red eyes following the pattern her fingers were tracing. “When I saw you for the first time, after everything. You were in your armor, the sun lighting you from behind, the glare of your eyes burning into mine and all I could think was how beautiful you were… and how I knew I could never have you again.” 

Liadrin watched Sylvanas’s ears gently fold back and it took everything within her to resist reaching up and stroking along one, to trace the pad of her finger against each jagged tear from base to tip. She used to have such active ears, very telling of her emotions, but now Liadrin felt privileged to see any movement, even as subtle as this. 

“Why not?” Liadrin murmured softly and wasn’t prepared for the heartbreak in those crimson eyes. 

“Because if _you_ were the one pushing _me_ away.... I wouldn’t have been able to take it.” 

“Sylvanas…” Liadrin made to lean forward, but a gentle, yet firm hand against her chest stopped her.

“Please… don’t.” Sylvanas’s expression then hardened as she sharply pulled her hand away. “Don’t you see? Already you flinch at my touch.” 

“Because I’m not used to it!” Liadrin growled, braving to grab her wrist and pull her hand back to resting against her collarbone. “See? It’s just a temperature difference, nothing more.” Liadrin let out a shaky breath. “Can’t you feel it? How you’re already warming up… or I’m cooling down. Soon your touch will feel the same as mine.” Liadrin stroked over those fingers still resting against her skin. “You have changed yet so have I, and perhaps we may never be who we want the other to be, perhaps we may never find that compatibility again, but I beg of you Sylvanas, at least let me try.” 

“Your Light burns a little…” Sylvanas frowned, yet made no effort to remove her hand. “But it’s… a good hurt. I feel precious little these days that I can’t help but… like it.” 

“So what is your answer? Don’t deflect.” Liadrin held her gaze and Sylvanas lifted her chin to glare back. 

There was an uncomfortably long pause before Sylvanas eventually spoke. 

“Yes. I will let you try.” 

This time when Liadrin leant forward, Sylvanas met her halfway. Yes her lips felt cold, her tongue colder still. Yes it felt strange to splay those fingers across her chest and feel no hammering pulse to match her own roaring in her ears. But the huff Sylvanas let out as Liadrin’s fingers ghosted over her breast was still the same, the gentle whine as she arched up into the Paladin’s touch was as she remembered as well. And oh had Liadrin missed it so. 

Slowly they touched, they explored, reacquainting themselves with one another and discovering things that were new. Sylvanas found that Liadrin’s body was harder than she remembered, corded with muscle from less days spent healing and more embodying the Light’s brutality as a shining beacon on the battlefield. Sylvanas lamented the tanned skin, the silky sheen to her red hair, hated how much _healthier_ Liadrin looked as opposed to her own body, a perpetual snapshot of her final moment of exhaustion and starvation before death. Still it didn’t seem to deter the way the Blood Knight reverently gazed at her as though she was the most beautiful thing in the universe. 

Liadrin in turn couldn’t help the tears that collected in her eyes as Sylvanas peeled back leathers to reveal the brutal scar that marred her stomach with a wounded challenge in her eyes as if daring Liadrin to run. But no, she wouldn’t run, she’d never run again. Neither would she ever regret the feeling of utter bliss and relief as they both were finally free of the armor and clothing that lay scattered across the hold and collapsed into each other's embrace. Skin against skin, Liadrin’s heart hammering against Sylvanas’s chest, though both were breathing heavily, lips inches apart before one of them would steal yet another kiss. Sylvanas buried her face into the crook of Liadrin’s neck and the Blood Knight closed her eyes, holding her tightly as she slowly slid off the throne to kneel between her legs. 

Feeling Liadrin becoming heavier in her arms, Sylvanas let go, though only to slide her hands into reddish brown locks and coaxing the Paladin’s face to tilt up to look into her eyes. 

“Are you…?” She swallowed, mouth dry. “A lot has changed, I’m not sure I can even…” 

“You promised you’d let me try.” Liadrin simply responded and Sylvanas leant back with an absent nod, even as her fingers released from Liadrin’s hair to grip white knuckled against the arms of the throne. 

She bit back a hiss as lips were pressed against her inner thigh and impatiently shifted her hips. 

“Easy.” Liadrin murmured and was rewarded with a frustrated twitch of an ear. She tried to hide her smile, for it seemed Sylvanas was still as demanding of a lover as she had always been. 

The strangled groan at the warm, wet swipe of Liadrin’s tongue also hadn’t changed much either. 

Sylvanas was cold, that had taken some getting used to, but she was also so deliciously wet. And she still tasted the same, coupled with a heady scent that Liadrin had forgotten just how addictive it was. The enthusiastic moan the Blood Knight gave was everything in that moment, everything to Sylvanas who’s cruel thoughts had jeered that nobody would ever find pleasure in her body ever again. And, Belore help her, Sylvanas had never felt more alive than in this moment, where she whimpered and writhed against a mouth that never relented, that lapped and suckled as though it was the last chance she’d ever get. 

Liadrin pulled away and Sylvanas was embarrassed at the outraged yowl that had ripped uninhibited from her throat. 

“Shhh. Don’t worry, we’ll get there.” Liadrin soothed, pressing a soft bite against a long since deadened artery as Sylvanas shifted her hips, aching for relief. 

“Then get there faster.” Sylvanas bit back a curse, she’d wanted it to sound more demanding and less like a needy whimper. 

Liadrin seemed to understand Sylvanas wasn’t in the mood for games, that perhaps she’d never get to tease the way she’d used to. But that was okay, for the shuddering groan of relief as Liadrin’s fingers joined the mix, even with the Banshee’s echo behind it, was everything to her and all that she would ever need to hear again. 

* * *

That night Sylvanas hadn’t asked her to stay, but it did little to dampen Liadrin’s spirits as she’d strode out the hold, the taste of the Warchief’s arousal still on her tongue and a barely contained smirk on her face as Nathanos’s eyes narrowed at her tousled hair and the still glistening hickey on her neck. 

“You best move subtly Blood Knight, I’m sure the Warchief would rather avoid any unsavory rumours to be flying so soon.” 

“Do you wish me to sign an NDA as well Blightcaller?” Liadrin responded in an equally dry tone and bit back the laughter as his lips pursed into a thin line. 

They had a long way to go, endless stretching days and nights of progress until Liadrin would be granted the emotional intimacy she so desperately craved. But that next morning after both had retreated to their respective rooms, the tingle of one another’s touch on starved skin, a newly recovered Warchief had emerged with a spring to her step that caused everyone to both gawk and baulk in disbelief. Liadrin felt that unholy red gaze land on her and the hint of a smile Sylvanas shot in her direction- almost shy and uncertain- did more to heal her than she could have ever thought possible. 

Sylvanas was giving her a chance. Sylvanas was letting her try. 

One more time. 

  
  



End file.
